


LEN'S 21 GRAMS

by AgnesClementine



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Ghost Leonard Snart, He gets better, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-08-22 06:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16593011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: "The 21 grams experiment refers to a scientific study published in 1907 by Duncan MacDougall, a physician from Haverhill, Massachusetts. MacDougall hypothesized that souls have physical weight, and attempted to measure the mass lost by a human when the soul departed the body. MacDougall attempted to measure the mass change of six patients at the moment of death. One of the six subjects lost three-fourths of an ounce (21.3 grams)."Mick is 10 when he first hears the voice.ORThe obligatory sort of Oculus fix-it fic where Len is already a ghost before the kaboom happens. Happy ending, I swear.





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> This is exactly what it says in the summary. 
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

First time Mick hears it, he's 10. It's Thanksgiving, dinner time and his whole family is there. His grandparents, aunts, cousins, the whole of Rory and Kaplan family tree assembled. He’s picking at the beans on his plate, eyes skimming over the table and stopping at the sight of his uncle Vince shoveling mashed potatoes in his mouth. He’s talking with his mouth full and Mick feels a sting of injustice because whenever he does it his mom scolds him. The feeling is quickly forgotten as a voice whispers, “If he ate any faster, he’d have to inhale his food,” in a funny way and Mick almost snorts the soda out of his nose. His mom glances at him, but is soon pulled back into one of those ‘adult’ conversations.

“You can hear me?” The voice questions tentatively. Then, “If you can, uh, eat some beans.”

Mick makes a face at his plate, “I don’t like beans,” he mutters.

“What was that, sweetie?” his grandma asks, leaning down to hear him better. She comes only for holidays, so Mick doesn’t see her much. His mom said it’s because she’s too old to live alone and the nice people that drove her here are helping her. He doesn’t know why she can’t come live with them; he’d let her have his room and he can sleep with Becca. He sighs, bored, “Nothing. I don’t like beans.”

“Huh,” the voice says again, “I don’t like them either.”

Mick grins. Finally, someone who knows that beans are gross. “Awesome. I’m Mick. What’s your name?”

“Mick, who’re you talking to, honey?” He looks up to find his parents looking at him.

“I’m Lenny.” The voice responds.

Mick shrugs, “Lenny.”

His mom raises her eyebrows, “Lenny?”

“Yeah.”

“I think grown-ups can’t hear me.” Lenny tells him.

“Well, where is… Lenny?” His mom asks.

“He says you can’t hear him because you’re adults.” He looks around himself. “I can’t see him.” He shrugs again.

“Nobody can.” Lenny says.

  * ●●●●



His parents thought Lenny was an imaginary friend. Mick finds out when he turns 13 and his parents sit him down in the kitchen while his siblings play outside. His dad is a silent, looming figure in the corner and his mom takes a seat across from him. Mick looks for a shiny surface, finds the chrome colored toaster and gives it a look. He can’t see Lenny, but he knows he’s here and Lenny like this better than Mick just looking into empty space. He says it makes him feel like Mick’s looking through him.

“Mick, I and dad have to talk to you about something.” She says gently.

“It’s about me,” Lenny voices in that matter-of-fact way. He notices things better than Mick does; always observing and commenting.

“Yeah?” Mick responds to both his mom and Lenny.

Lenny just hums, but his mom nods, says, “It’s about… Lenny.” She says it with unsure tone, the same way she always does when they talk about him. His dad mostly just ignores it, and while he doesn’t scold, he doesn’t encourage his siblings to talk about him either. Mick doesn’t get what the big deal is, but keeps his head down.

“Bingo,” Lenny comments flatly.

“Oh,” Mick says, “what about him?” He asks, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt. He wants to light up one of the matches they keep in the shed, but his dad was really mad when he caught him the last time.

His mom clears her throat, “Well, you’re 13 now. You’re not a little kid anymore. And Lenny is- he-“

“He don’t exist, son.” His dad pipes up bluntly and a hissed, “Richard!” gets overlaid with an offended noise from Lenny.

“What?” Mick wonders disbelieving.

His mom looks at him with concern and then shoots a glare at his dad.

His dad clears his throat, walking closer until he’s standing behind his mom. He’s got his serious expression on. “He’s made up. And you’re too old for imaginary friends, so you gotta stop playing.”

“Lenny’s not made up.” He retorts. He _knows_ Lenny’s real. He knows because Lenny likes comics and he knows a ton about space and he has jokes that are so bad you can’t resist laughing. And he’s Mick’s _friend_. If others can’t see him, that doesn’t mean he’s not there. Maybe they’d hear him if they just listened.

His mom sighs. “Sweetie, I know this is hard, but you have to let it go.”

It makes something in him hurt. Why would he let go? He doesn’t want to abandon Lenny. His friend never said so, but Mick is sure he must be lonely when no one knows he exists. Mick doesn’t want him to be lonely.

“He’s not made up!” He yells and jumps out of his chair. His mom calls after him, but doesn’t follow him into his room. He drops down on his bed, feet dangling off its edge and looks at the silver surface of the knob of his window. “Don’t worry, I know you’re real.” He says.

Len doesn’t say anything, just sighs quietly, but the room feels somewhat warmer and Mick imagines him smiling.

  * ●●●●



On one hand, Mick thinks, his parents were right. He is too old for imaginary friends. But on the other hand, he still has no doubts about Lenny being real. He’s always there, sarcasm and bad jokes following Mick like a shadow with a personality. To avoid awkwardness and conflict with his dad (they don’t really get along lately), he had to limit his talking to Len to his room or a place where no one can hear him. But apparently neither of them minds it; Mick learned that Len doesn’t actually need a response to keep a conversation going, and to Mick, having Len was like having a secret nobody knew about. It was something that’s only his.

And in the household of eight, having something that’s only yours is a luxury.

So Mick played his part, careful not to slip up, and all was good.

  * ●●●●



All was not good. Apparently, talking to yourself during a lunch break is enough for the whole school to label you as a nutcase and decide there’s no harm in playing a prank on you. Mick didn’t agree.

He comes home shivering, cold and mad and skips dinner to hole up in his room. Len is invisible, but no less present; he’s talking to Mick, voice soothing, but Mick can’t really tell what he’s saying from the roaring in his ears.

  * ●●●●



Mick doesn’t realize what’s happening until Len screams in his ear. His voice is hoarse, like he’s been yelling for a long time already, and then Mick stands up on numb legs, barely seeing anything; he doesn’t know if it’s from being lost in his head for a while or from the thick, black smoke filling up all the space the fire hasn’t consumed yet. It’s-

“Don’t just stand there! Get out!” Len screams again. “Mick!”

Mick starts walking on autopilot, out into the hallway ( _he was in the living room, how did he get to there?_ ) and then outside. There’s a flurry of motion, lights and shouting and suddenly people swarming around him.

“Drop the matches, Mick!” Len hisses and Mick doesn’t understand. Matches? He doesn’t have-

The two firefighters standing in front of him exchange a look.

Mick takes in the box of matches gripped in his left hand.


	2. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Mick is a bit hard on himself for about two sentences here, so heads up. Also, a mention of murder.
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

They give him a shrink in the juvie. Pyromania, he said, all fake emphatic and dressed in a sweater that probably cost more than anything else in his office in the center.

Mick’s got pyromania, and he killed his whole family, and he doesn’t know how it happened, and he’s not sure in anything anymore.

He’s pacing in front of the row of mirrors above the sinks in the communal bathroom. His parents thought Len was an imaginary friend. He thought, for the longest of time, taken over by that childish belief, that Len was his own special, magical friend. Then he thought his conscience just has a very developed personality. But all in all, he didn’t like to think about it too much.

“Fuck,” he swore quietly, waiting for the goddamn boiler to heat up the water already. What if he was just a nutcase? The crazy kid obsessed with fire? A demented freak?

_A killer?_

What if Len-

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted under his breath, hands coming up to interlock on the back of his scalp.

“It’s gonna be okay, Mick.” Len tries for soothing. His voice makes Mick question himself even more.

He barks out a bitter laugh. “Oh, it will? I killed everyone I knew, I’m fucking alone.”

Len doesn’t protest on the first part, thankfully, but his response flares up something in Mick, sparks a match that lights up the fire that Mick loves so much.

“You’ve got me.” He says calmly.

“Got you?!” Mick hollers, “You’re not even real!” He shouts, throwing his hands out. _Fuck_ , he can’t even glare at him because he can’t _see_ him.

A mirror shatters on his left, almost smothering the hurt noise that echoes in Mick’s ears. He thinks he catches a glimpse of a pair of eyes; silver, blue, gunmetal, before the spider web crack pattern spreads.

The silence in his head is deafening, eyes trained on the point of impact on the glass surface.

“I’m real.” Len is not yelling, but his voice is determined and sure; ready for a fight. “I’m not a product of your imagination, I’m not something you made up in your head. I’m real. I know I am, Mick.”  The sureness gave way for fear and it cut through Mick like a blade.

“You’re a ghost.” He says numbly.

“What?” Len responds just as numbly.

“A ghost. I mean, what else could you be?” Mick wonders, looking into the next mirror by the shattered one.

“No, that- that makes sense.” Len admits like it hasn’t crossed his mind before.

Mick is quiet for a moment. “Do you know what happened to you?” He asks at last.

“Yeah,” Len breathes out, but doesn’t offer more like he usually would. Mick lets it be and makes him promise not to peek while he’s showering.

(“We’ve known each other for six years.”

“I didn’t know you were a ghost then!”

“You’re ridiculous, hope you slip and brain yourself on the tiles while I wait outside- _like I always do.”)_

When he gets out, the guard not very subtly peers through the door and gives Mick a confused look when he finds the bathroom empty. Whatever, _Mick’s best friend is a ghost_.

  * ●●●●



They’re in Mick’s room later that night, Mick sprawled under the comforter on his bed, when he can resist asking anymore.

“How’d you die?” He questions. Len doesn’t respond. “Len, you here?”

“I’m here.” Then, after what seemed like forever, he whispers, “My dad.”

Mick frowns, “Your dad?”

He imagines Len shrugging, mind going back to those gunmetal, silver-blue eyes, “I fucked up and he got pissed. Had few too many.” He says flatly and quietly enough that Mick has to strain to hear him.

He swallows down the sickness rising up his throat. Eight- that’s how old Len was when they first met. A man killed his eight-year-old son.

“Chill, Mick.” Len tries to break the tension with the light tone of his voice.

“Did they get him?” He soldiers on.

“No,” Len admits. Mick hears him sigh. There’s nothing with shiny, metallic surface here, so Mick closes his eyes, focusing on the sound.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.” Len says.

Mick blinks, “Okay.”

He closes his eyes again. They’re in silence for a while; long enough for Mick to start dozing off, when Len speaks again.

“Reach out your hand,” he says.

“Hm?” Mick grunts, too lazy to open his eyes again.

“C’mon, just do it.” Len pleads. “I wanna try something.”

That gets him to crack open his eyes just a bit. He pulls one sleep heavy arm out from under the comforter, extends it with a palm up. He still sees nothing (he never does with Len) and he doesn’t know what Len is planning.

It’s nothing at first, and then Mick takes in a breath as cold starts to spread over his palm. He opens his eyes fully now, but in almost pitch black of his room, he sees nothing. His fingers twitch.

And then, as gradually as the cold came, it gets replaced by a warmth, almost pulsing against his skin. It sends shivers all over him because that’s _Len_.

“That your hand?” He asks. It feels like there should be a yellow glow coming from his hand, heated up by Len.

“Yeah,” Len responds.

“Huh,” Mick grins and closes his eyes again. He sinks into sleep with a feeling of warmth tingling at his fingertips.

  * ●●●●



Mick is 18 and fresh out of juvie when the first offer comes. He’s got no income, no place to stay, but somehow the word of a kid that’s got no problems setting few fires spreads and almost every crew swoops in to have a chat with him. Len advises which offers he should take and what guys he can send on their merry way with a kick in the ass.

Time goes by, and the word changes to “watch yourself around that Rory kid” and “he seems like a log, but he’s gonna run off with your pants and you ain’t even gonna notice it” ( _Len teaching him to pickpocket was a wild ride_ ) and “don’t try to con him unless you wanna broken bones”. His name went up the criminal ladder so fast he barely had time to compose himself. And Len was there the whole time, getting a real kick out of it.

But with a reputation like that came the responsibility of playing the big league with big league players. And one of them was Lewis Snart.

Mick doesn’t know what Len looks like, doesn’t even know if Len has a body in the conventional sense of the word, but those are not eyes he saw in the mirror. Grey and dull, greedy. Nothing like sharp gunmetal.

And he’s every bit of a man that would kill his own child that Mick thought he’d be. He’s cold in a way that speaks of something rotten and left outside to freeze. Mick wants to wring his neck.

“Can I kill him?” Mick asks, knowing Len is there, while going through his stuff on the other side of the room from Lewis.

“No.” Len says firmly.

Mick scowls at the half a gallon of gasoline in his bag, “Why the hell not?”

“Because you’re gonna land yourself in jail. Long-term.” Len sighs. “Leave this to me.” Mick is not sure what Len plans on doing, or how- since he’s _a ghost_ \- but he lets him be.


	3. 3. Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long, I'm so sorry.
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

Len makes a plan. That’s all Mick knows for a while. Lewis’ plan, in turn, has a lot of holes. Even Mick sees it- and he’s supposed to be a cleanup on this job. So Lewis sulks, re-planning the re-plan and Len quietly plots. Mick knows he’s near only by frustrated huffs and thoughtful hums, a random question here and there that requires Mick to only grunt as a response.

“You gonna at least tell me what’s the endgame?” Mick asks him eventually.

“Depends.”

Mick frowns, “What depends on what?”

“The endgame,” Len clarifies, “depends on how much my dad resists and how good the cop’s aim is.”

  * ●●●●



The job is simple. Get in, grab what you can, get out, torch the place down. Mick still feels the knots in his stomach because he knows what’s supposed to go down in half an hour.

Len’s plan is… surprisingly simple. Not what Mick had expected after all the planning. But it’s gonna work.

  * ●●●●



Mick’s in the bar when it becomes evident that the plan won’t work. At least not without some modifications.

Clay, downing his beer, bitches about the hangover he’ll have tomorrow. Lewis cuts it short with, “I don’t care if you’ll see triple, unless you’re in a hospital, you better show up.”

Len makes a strangled noise to Mick’s left because their plan just got knocked off its course. Mick sips his beer instead of swearing.

The plan was to miss out on the job; Mick can’t do that without an alibi and getting shitfaced ain’t gonna do the trick anymore.

They have to come up with something else. Fast.

  * ●●●●



Mick makes his way to the bathroom, looking for a break from the rest of the crew getting pumped for tomorrow. He steps in front of the mirror.

“So?” He asks.

Len sighs, “I’m working on it.” Then he adds, “Don’t do anything rash.”

Mick snorts, “Have you met me?”

“Mick. We have to play this smart.” Len points out calmly, but seriously.

Mick crosses his arms.  “We don’t really have time to brainstorm it.” They had already tipped the cops.

Len stays quiet.

“You’ll figure something out.” Mick concedes.

He steps out of the bathroom, knowing Len’s right there- and shoulder-checks some jackass who wasn’t looking where he’s going.

“Hey! Watch it!” The guy hisses. Mick gets an idea.

“Mick, no.” Len, apparently reading his mind, warns.

_Mick, yes_.

“How about you fucking watch it?” Mick grunts.

The guy stops, turning to narrow his eyes at Mick. “What the fuck did you say?” He asks, pushing Mick.

Len sighs, giving up.

Mick grits his teeth, “You heard me, jackass.” He pushes him right back.

The guy swings his arm and Mick braces for impact. His head snaps to the side, jaw already pulsing with pain. He, again, responds in kind. Both of them gives and takes a few good punches, Mick doing it mainly to piss the idiot off and get to step up his game. Mick’s not gonna take a half-assed beating.

And beating it is. Mick knows he could take the guy without breaking a sweat. But that’s not the plan here. And, yeah, Len’s probably pissed as all hell, but this is kind of exactly what they’ve been looking for.

Mick grunts, sinking down to his knees after a sucker punch to the gut he hadn’t bothered blocking.

“Mick.” Len doesn’t yell, but it’s close.

He might say something else too, but it becomes really hard to listen when he starts going out of the air. It’s not his first beating, and he knows the burn of every kick and every punch, but the world blacking out is new.

  * ●●●●



He comes back to the beeping, eye-stabbing white walls and some serious pissed-off vibes aimed at him.

“What time is it?” He croaks out.

“Oh! You’re awake!” The nurse chirps- Mick hadn’t even noticed her until now, “It’s Wednesday, 4:16 pm.”

She says at the same time as Len spits out, “ _It’s ‘you’re an idiot’ o’clock_.”

“Thanks.” Mick responds deadpan. He’s been out of it for almost a day.

“Would you like some water?” The nurse asks him.

He nods, if only to have some privacy to talk to Len. He’s insanely thirsty too.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Len asks the moment the nurse is gone.

“Hospital equals alibi.” Mick tries to shrug, but his body is that numb kind of achy. He doesn’t really have the strength for it.

Len makes a frustrated noise and Mick imagines him shaking his head at Mick with arms crossed over his chest. “You could have died.”

Mick hums, then frowns and, fueled by drugs in his system, asks, “Hey, what do you look like?”

“What?”

“Ya know, what do you look like? You’re my best friend and I have no idea.” He explains- the drugs might have loosened his tongue a bit.

Len is quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.” He says at the end.

Mick keeps frowning, “You can’t see yourself?”

“No, it’s- I don’t know. It’s like I don’t have a body.” Len explains.

“Oh.” Mick doesn’t know how he never thought of that. It’s kind of logical; if nobody can see him, then he probably doesn’t have a body.

“Huh.” He concludes. “Well, did the plan work?”

Len is quiet again. “Yes,” he admits.

Mick grins, “Did it hurt saying that?”

“Shut up and ask the nurse to turn on the TV.” Len grumbles.

Like on cue, the nurse returns with one of those cheap plastic cups in her hand. “Here you go! Do you need help sitting up?”

“Uh, no, I got it. Thanks.” Mick says, slowly shimmying into sitting position and gratefully gulping down the cold liquid.

“Could you turn on the TV?” He asks.

“Sure thing!” She chirps again, powering on the ancient TV set on a desktop in front of Mick and handing him the remote.

“Just press this button if you need anything!” She shows him the button on a wire coming from somewhere behind him and bounces out of the room.

He surfs the channels until he finds the channel showing Central City afternoon news. He turns up the volume.

“-at approximately 1 am this morning. The culprits have been apprehended and are currently in custody. Due to the violent nature of this case, none of the culprits have the option of probation. Their sentences have been estimated to 20 years per each. New, reporting from the crime scene-”

“He survived.” Len says.

“Yeah,” Mick agrees cautiously, “you’re not happy he’s locked up?”

“The plan wasn’t for him to survive.” Len responds.

Mick gets where he’s coming from, remembers exactly what happened to Len, and he can’t a grain of sympathy for the bastard. Dead or alive.

He also remembers Len has a baby sister. Lisa.

“What about Lisa?”

“What about her?” Len asks back.

“Well, her old man’s in jail.” _Her brother’s… not tangible_.

“She’s gonna go to our grandparents. She’ll be fine.” Len says. His voice is the particular tone of longing that Mick is intimately familiar with.

“Why don’t you ever go visit her?” Mick dares to ask.

Len snorts, and his voice is bitter when he answers. “Why? She can’t hear me. Trust me, I tried.”


	4. 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short, but- Lisa is here.
> 
> Comment and enjoy! :)

Mick gets out of the hospital that same evening and tatters to his apartment with Len bitching about his recklessness the whole time. It’s a familiar song, so he tunes out and enjoys the feeling of normality that washes over him and soothes his aching body like a fix of morphine.

He spends about two days just going through the motions and relocating from his bed to the couch- and then he admits to himself (and by extension to Len) that his fridge is in dire need of a grocery trip.

And this is how he finds himself zombie-ing his way through the aisle with Len yapping away in his ear to keep him awake. Late night grocery trips are great just because nobody sane gets out at midnight and the place is completely empty.

At least it was supposed to be, but then Len’s voice suddenly cuts off with a strangled noise and Mick notices a kid, down the aisle to his right, reaching up for something on the shelf.

She can’t be more than ten, maybe eleven, with long wavy brown hair and getting on the tips of her toes to reach a bag of chips. She’s still few inches short.

“What?” Mick hisses at Len, looking for a smooth surface, but unable to find one. He keeps his eyes on the kid instead.

Len sighs, “Lisa.” He says longingly. Mick has no doubt he’d be staring at her if Mick could see him.

“Oh,” Mick responds because what else is there to say.

He watches her struggling for a moment or two and then gets an idea.

“Mick,” Len hisses at him, “what are you doing?”

 He approaches her slowly and takes a bag in his hand.

Lisa, small and cute in a way that all kids are, narrows her hazel eyes at him. “Hi,” she says briskly, the heels of her sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor.

She’s totally Len’s sister. Mick wonders if they look anything alike.

“Hi,” he responds, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. If she’s really anything like Len, she wouldn’t appreciate it. “This is what you wanted?” He asks her, offering the bag.

She eyes it suspiciously. “Yes.” She says finally, taking it in her small hands. She gives it one last suspicious look, a “Thanks,” and disappears behind the shelves. Mick thinks he hears a woman’s voice calling for her.

He waits for a beat, then speaks to Len- who was silent this whole time. “You two are related, no doubt.”

“What does that mean?” Len asks and the suspicious tone makes Mick crack up finally.

  * ●●●●



Mick doesn’t think he’ll see Lisa again, but he’s walking through a Central City Park a few months later and finds himself locking eyes with her on one of the walker paths. She’s standing in a line for ice cream.

Len is silent again. Mick honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Lisa couldn’t hear him just because he doesn’t say anything; though, he’s not nearly crazy enough to say as much to Len. Non-tangible or not, Len would find a way to inconvenience him in some form. He’d probably just crack bad jokes and puns whenever Mick’s in public. It’s Len’s level of petty.

Lisa narrows her eyes at him just like she did the last time. Her hair’s in twin braids and she’s twirling the left one around her finger.

“Hi,” she greets him.

He’s surprised she remembers him, but greets her back.

“She likes strawberry.” Len speaks and Mick doesn’t jump just because he got used to Len speaking up out of nowhere.

Mick takes a hint and pulls out his wallet. He clears his throat and says, “Two strawberries.”

Lisa blinks at him, but takes the cone and falls into step with him, casual like she’s taking a stroll with her grandparents. Mick… is not sure how to proceed.

And he can’t ask Len while Lisa is in the earshot.

They walk through the park quietly for a while, eating their ice cream. Mick doesn’t know when was the last time he ate ice cream. Definitely before the fire.

“How did you know I like strawberry?” Lisa asks him. Suspiciously, of course.

Mick shrugs, “Who doesn’t like strawberry? It’s great.”

She hums, but keeps looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes. Mick has a feeling she knows everything, somehow. Like she can see Len next to him. But that’s ridiculous.

She finally looks away, catching a drop of her melting ice cream before it dribbles down her hand. “I’m Lisa. What’s your name?”

“Mick,” he says. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your grandparents? They gotta be worried.”

He catches his slip up as soon as the words leave his mouth- Len makes a strangled noise on his left- and his brain immediately scrambles for an explanation.

But Lisa doesn’t seem to notice. She too busy trying to keep her ice cream from melting all over her

“Are you still on morphine?” Len hisses at him sarcastically.

Mick makes a ‘shut up’ face at his ice cream. If only he had a mirror or something to glare into.

“They’re over there,” Lisa says, without looking up pointing at an older couple sitting on a bench next to another walking path. And, yep, they’re also looking at Mick with narrow eyes. He wonders if Len would do the same if he had a body.

“Right,” Mick says, holding eye contact with her grandfather.

“Quit staring,” Len tells him, “you’re making it weird.”

_Because it wasn’t weird before_.

He shakes his head and looks at Lisa.

“You okay to walk back there on your own?” She looks like a tough kid, but there are all sorts of creeps in parks.

“Uh-huh, I’m not five.” She tells him seriously.

“Tell her to take care of herself,” Len says, his voice all quiet and strange.

“Alright. Take care, kid.” Mick says, turning to leave.

“My name’s Lisa, not kid!” She yells after him. Mick grins and waves at her over his shoulder without looking back.


	5. 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a *long* break, I give you this.
> 
> EDIT: one of the lovely readers pointed out to me I messed up and copied a wrong part from my word doc, so sorry for that, it's fixed now. 
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

Mick had spent years keeping Len- keeping their secret a, well, _secret_. Those times with his family, his siblings all knowing about Len seem like a distant, made up dream. Like it never happened at all. It’s been only Len and him for so long, in such a way, that Len being only a voice Mick can hear became normal. It became something familiar.

They are watching the TV when the doorbell rings. It goes off three times, he remembers, and then Len shoos him off to open the door.

Lisa stands there, serious and confident and asks, “Is my brother here?”

Everything freezes for a solid minute, Mick thinks. Everything just stops. His heart is beating in his ears and he can _feel_ speechlessness coming off from Len.

“What?” He asks back.

Lisa gives him a sharp look, standing straighter. “Lenny. Is he here?”

Mick grapples for an answer, turning things over in his head, word by word, lie by lie and then Len says, “Let her in.”

So he does.

He has a feeling there will be some adjustments in their lives after this.

  * ●●●●



Mick is really not a guy of many words, mainly because he doesn’t know a way with words, so it’s Len doing all the explaining.

“Len wanted to visit, but you couldn’t hear him,” Mick repeats Len’s words, standing in front of the couch, where Lisa took a seat. She’s been quiet for the most part, taking in everything that’s being said with a serious, interested expression on her face.

“He can’t talk?” She asks worriedly.

“No, no,” Mick is quick to reassure her because not talking is not one of Len’s problems, for sure, “people just- can’t really hear him. At all.”

She frowns, “You can, right? Why?”

The million dollar question.

“I don’t know.”

She hums, “And where is he? I want to see him.”

Mick hears Len sigh, heavy and broken.

“I’m right here.”

“He’s right here,” Mick says, opening his arms to indicate over the whole room, “somewhere.”

Lisa frowns again, looking around the room. So now comes the hard part.

“Where?”

“He’s, um, here. You just can’t see him.”

Lisa blinks, scrunching up her face, “Why not? I want to see him.”

Mick doesn’t know how to respond to that. _I want to see him too?_ It’s not like they’ve been at this for better parts of their whole lives. Len’s been here in this way since they met and Mick is gonna take a voice over nothing any day. But Lisa can’t hear him, and she can’t see him either. To her, it’s like Len’s not even there.

“I know. But, we can’t see him.” He says slowly.

“ _Why not?_ ” Lisa repeats.

Mick sighs, in sync with Len.

“I don’t know. If I did, I’d tell you,” Mick says, but it doesn’t feel like enough, “I’m sorry.”

Lisa breathes out, her eyes glassy.

Len, somewhere on his right, makes a heartbroken noise and huffs.

“Mick,” he says, but Mick doesn’t know what he’s asking for.

  * ●●●●



Mick makes her hot chocolate and then they drive her back home. She was asking around the neighborhood for Mick, she tells them when they ask how she found them. And if that didn’t give Mick an ulcer, the fact of how late it is must have.

Her grandma sweeps her up into an embrace, hugging her close and simultaneously giving her a lecture of her life, as far as Mick can hear. Her grandpa is seizing Mick up, so he says his goodbyes and makes his escape before the tricky questions arise.

Len doesn’t say a word during the whole ordeal, so Mick says, “You here?” just to be sure.

Len hums, “I’m here.” It sounds more meaningful than it should. But again, Mick doesn’t know what to do to make things better.

  * ●●●●



Lisa comes by again- at a more sensible hour, of course- and after that, things somehow click into their places. Lisa loves talking, like Len, so it’s truly never quiet when she’s there. And she asks questions. A lot of questions.

It’s strangely like having a younger sister again, Mick notes and the thought doesn’t sting as it used to. And having another person knowing about Len, acknowledging him, does wonders. It probably has more to do with the fact that Lisa is that person, but there’s a definitive shift.

Len has the incredible ability to talk a lot and not actually saying anything, but with Lisa asking the questions? It’s a whole new thing.

(“What’s your favorite food?”

“I loved Lucky Charms when I was a kid.”

“She asked favorite food, Len, not sweets.”

“Shut up, Mick.”

“He loves broccoli.”)

(What’s your favorite book?”

“Mick, what was that book you were reading last week?”

“Are you fu- kidding me?”

“Mick, the last time I read a book was when I was eight. I don’t even remember what it was.”

“…His favorite is Dracula.”)

“Do you miss being alive?” Lisa asks, all post- ice cream sleepy.

Mick stills as subtly as he can.

Len is as silent as the dead- which might be a bad choice of words, but they never thought too much about Len’s state. Condition. Whatever it is. Len’s here. The ‘how’ doesn’t matter. And the last conversation they had about this was, shit, when Mick ended up in the juvie.

“Yes,” Len responds quietly, “sometimes.”

Mick hates it, but he greedily hangs onto every word.

“I miss the hot chocolate. And apples. And the, uh, winter hats and gloves. And blankets and socks. I miss the wind against my skin. I miss- I miss the snow. The feeling of cold on my skin and fresh air in my lungs. How my eyes sting when everything turns white and the sun reflects from the ice.” Len says slowly like he’s lost in a memory.

Lisa is sleeping, curled up on the couch.

Mick listens, and, _fuck_ , he thinks he might be a little bit in love.

  * ●●●●



“Do you miss anything else?” Mick asks him a few days later. Lisa is with their grandparents, what with it being the holidays season and all that, so it’s just them, camping out in front of the TV and searching for a channel that’s not showing some Christmas rom-com.

Len makes a ‘ _hmp_ ’ noise. “I- yeah, I think so.” He says and then hesitantly adds, “But I think I have more regrets.”

“Regrets?”

“Mhm,” Len hums, “Things I didn’t get to do, you know.”

“Yeah,” Mick knows. The curse of the two of them is that Len died before he could do anything, and Mick lived, but ended up being just as stuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a *long* time since the last update and I just want to say that the story is not abandoned, I just don't have enough time to write for now. But I will come back to this. :)


End file.
